Murder on Silver Lake

by Hugo James King

  I loved you.

  I failed you.

  As a wife, I tried to be strong.

  I wish I’d been a better wife.

  Her eulogy? My teeth clenched at my awful curiosity.

  Charlie yapped. He jumped from my lap and skirted down the aisle, making a beeline for the exit.

  I dropped the pamphlet and letter, grabbing my bag and hurrying after him.

  Most people paused to watch, their heated eyes directly on me as I tried to stay low, hurrying out into the foyer.

  “Charlie?” I called out in a hushed voice.

  A chill breeze whipped in through the front doorway, chased with a little rain.

  I grabbed an umbrella from the stand and headed outside.

  There was no immediate sign of him. There were only a few cars parked near the church, and one of those was Wendy’s car.

  “Charlie!” I called out louder.

  I turned, quick on my foot to take in a quick three-sixty view of the surrounding.

  Beside the door with Charlie at his feet was a short man. Don Filbert.

  “Don?” I approached, seeking shelter beneath the small alcove in the church wall.

  “Evelyn,” he said, kneeling to stroke Charlie behind the ears.

  “Why aren’t you inside?”

  He shook his head. “Can’t.”

  “It’s hard to think it happened.”

  “No, no, no—” he stuttered.

  “Did you come with the others?”

  He grabbed both my wrists and pulled me close. “I’m scared.”

  “Why? What do you have to be scared about?”

  “I—I—I’ve been—been receiving letters,” he said. “I figured it was—was someone here. Someone’s trying to blame—blame me for killing him.”

  “Letters?”

  “I was—was the last person to see—see Gilbert alive, I—I think.”

  My shoulders hunched, and my back rolled in a shiver. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  “And have the finger pointed at me?” He shook his head and screwed his eyes.

  “I didn’t know he was still friends with anyone from the boy’s club.”

  “He wasn’t.” He stood, straightening his back. “But—but I felt sorry for the man. He told me he was scared.”

  “Scared?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Of who?” I grumbled.

  He shuddered, once again. I took his hand in my hand and tried to keep eye contact. He stuttered and stumbled over his words, mumbling incoherently. Someone else had been receiving letters, and perhaps he knew who was doing it.

  “Are they inside?” I asked.

  Of course, they were. I told myself. Whoever it was, they were already indoors, they were already keeping up the rouse, grieving. Whoever it was, they were close to Gilbert. They had to be, and suddenly, my pool of suspects grew larger.

  The wife, the ex-wife, the brother, and the many men from the boy’s club—the one I presumed had disbanded—and I had just the man to ask, the one standing before me, sobbing gently into his chest.

  “Don,” I said, cooing his name softly. “Don?”

  “I wish I could’ve helped,” he said. “But—but—but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything to help. He knew it was going to happen.”

  “Did he know who killed him?”

  Of course, I couldn’t well ask the dead who killed them, but if he knew it was going to happen, it meant they were closer than I thought.

  “Eve, why are you out here?” Ruth’s voice caught me off-guard from behind.

  I turned to her. “I came out for Charlie,” I said. “It’s all too much for him inside.”

  She chuckled as Charlie raced to her feet.

  I turned back to Don, and he was gone.

  “Did you see where he went?” I asked.

  “Who?” she asked.

  “Don?”

  She shook her head. “It’s just you. I thought you’d be sneaking a cheeky cigarette,” she said with a slight chuckle to her throat. “Not that I’d judge. I know you haven’t smoked in over ten years.” She ushered me into the doorway, saving me from incoming breeze as it whipped by.

  “How’s everyone in there?”

  She tssked her teeth. “Poor Harriet started crying, Wendy went with her into the bathroom. They’re still going through all the hymns.”

  “Oh, gosh.”

  “They asked if they wanted to pause the service.”

  “I should go see how she’s doing.”

  She shook her head. “No. Leave Wendy to it.”

  “But I—”

  “What, Eve?” she asked. “Don’t you tell me you think you should’ve been a better friend to them. I know what you’re like, taking the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

  I scoffed. “I don’t do that at all.”

  Ruth smirked. “We should go back. You don’t want people questioning why you ran out as if you were emotional.”

  She was right. I couldn’t afford people questioning whether or not I had a connection with Gilbert beyond the business dealings he’d once had with my husband.

  As we walked inside, a woman walked out, her head low as she cried. She sniffled and wiped at her tears with a tissue.

  “Gilbert really affected the community,” I said.

  Ruth put an arm over my shoulder. “Don’t want to sound heartless, but people will cry over anything.”

  As we walked down the aisle, a scream broke from behind us.

  The organ droned before cutting.

  Heads turned to us.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Death at a funeral. Another body.

  People raced outside. They weren’t here to pay their respect to the dead, they were here out of curiosity, they wanted to see who among them could’ve been the killer. And I didn’t blame them, because that’s partly why I came. I wanted to know.

  “He jumped,” one voice said.

  “From the roof?” another came.

  I didn’t catch a look. I didn’t see anything. People formed a human barrier, a circle around the body.

  “He’s not breathing,” Frank’s voice came.

  I glanced to my side, watching Ruth furrow her brows and shake her head. “What’s he doing in there?”

  “Have a look,” I encouraged. I stayed away with Charlie in my arms. I didn’t need him getting close to another dead body. One was enough. I didn’t want him catching a scent for death.

  Ruth left, pressing a hand through the crowd, pushing herself inside. Alongside her husband, Ruth was the next best thing in the medical field; she was more-or-less the only nurse around for miles.

  I found the twins, Nancy and Francesca walking away from the crowd, both of them scoffing and snarling at the situation. That was the face of someone who had information, the face of someone who knew something.

  I inched toward them. “Who is it?”

  Francesca shrugged. “Someone—someone, forgot his name.”

  Nancy hit her sister with the bag on her arm. “Don,” she said.

  Don? No. My fuzzy mind spun in circles. And selfishly, my next thought was about myself. Was I next? I had received letters. Someone was trying to intimidate me, someone was trying to plant evidence on me. But why? But who?

  I walked back inside. Wendy was seated alone, talking to the vicar.

  “Is everything okay?” they asked in unison.

  They didn’t know. “Someone died.”

  The vicar gasped, his hand at his chest. “Oh my.” He rushed down the aisle, passing me.

  “Who?” Wendy asked. She spun, looking around. “Oh. Where’s Harriet?” She grabbed her stomach. “Has she—”

  I only knew what the twins had told me. “It’s a man.”

  She sat, creased over at her stomach. Spitting out shallow breaths. “Thank goodness.”

  Charlie kicked his legs at my hands, wanting free from my arms. “Don’t run off,” I said, pressing my head closer to his. I set him
down on the ground and sat beside Wendy.

  We both looked ahead at the coffin on the stage.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said, crying. “I’ve been strong for Harriet, because she’s the widow, and I’m just a divorcee.”

  “You and Gilbert had something special,” I said. “As did Gilbert and Harriet,” I continued. “That doesn’t make any of this easier on you, I know.”

  She sobbed lightly. “I tell myself, I know.”

  “I hope she’s okay.”

  “She was in the bathroom. Throwing up.”

  “Oh no.”

  She told me to leave”

  We sat in silence as Wendy took my hand in her hand. I squeezed it, making sure she hadn’t completely zoned out.

  “Who do you think did it?” she asked in a croak.

  I couldn’t say her, I couldn’t say what I thought. If I mentioned anything, I knew it would only serve to upset her. I squeezed her hand once again. “Whoever it was, I don’t think they did it for nothing.”

  “Me too,” she said. “Gilbert’s will is being read at the wake later.”

  “Do you know what was in it?”

  She shook her head. “He never had a will when we were married,” she said. “I didn’t even think he’d have one now. He didn’t have much, I don’t think.”

  “I found out his brother was giving him money.”

  She swept back her hair across a shoulder, revealing the mascara on her cheeks. “They said this was waterproof in the shop.” Fiddling with a napkin in her hand, she blotted the dark spots into her make up. “I didn’t know Thomas was doing that,” she said. “But I’m glad I kept some things. Harriet was going to throw everything away.”

  “She was?”

  “She’s moving. She’s not going to relocate with his entire wardrobe.”

  I didn’t want to question a mourning spouse. “I should see if she’s okay,” I said, standing. Charlie stood at my feet, looking around to see which direction I’d face. “Where did she go?”

  “Bathroom.” She pointed to the left of the stage.

  I walked past the body in the casket towards a door.

  There were questions I had for Harriet. I knew grief skewed our actions, but grieving people needed to talk about it too, otherwise, they’d end up selling all their possessions and moving across the country.

  I walked the long corridor, one side of the wall had many doors to different rooms, while the other wall was dotted with windows out over gravestones.

  “Oh, Eve,” Thomas said, leaving the men’s bathroom. His eyes were bloodshot and red. “Are they ready to lower my brother into the ground?” He held himself steady on his cane, his entire hand was free of the bandaging, revealing how busted his hand was.

  I shook my head. “How are you holding up?”

  He clenched his teeth. “Not well,” he said, glancing at his hand. “This is throbbing, and my leg is killing.”

  “Have you seen, Harriet?” I asked.

  “Isn’t she in there?”

  She wasn’t. “Wendy said she was in the bathroom.”

  “Poor woman has been through a lot,” he said.

  “As have you,” I said, nodding to his body. “You might need an x-ray. Have Ruth and Frank take another look at it. They might recommend you visit A&E.”

  He smirked. “They did.”

  Blood dripped on the floor from his hand. Charlie sniffed at it.

  “Charlie, no.” I snapped my fingers.

  “Take care,” I said.

  I continued toward the women’s bathroom as Thomas walked on ahead.

  There were many doors, each signposted differently, and to many different parts of the parish church. Finally, the symbol for woman’s bathroom in a black circle appeared on one of those doors.

  “Harriet?” I called out, opening the door. “Harriet? Are you in here?”

  There were three stalls, each empty.

  I ran the tap and dipped my hands into the water, splashing it at my face. Freezing.

  “Brrrr.”

  On the corner of the white porcelain sink, a light pink smudge. Something had been wiped away. I glanced to the ground. A dot of blood on the floor. Charlie already circling it.

  Another stifled scream.

  I hurried out of the bathroom and chased after Charlie as he led the way.

  “Help!” a muffled voice cried.

  The voice wasn’t far.

  I paused and grabbed a door handle to my right. It was the cleaning cupboard.

  Inside, a familiar face, hidden in darkness, crouched on the ground, sobbing into a cloth wrapped around the mouth.

  “Harriet?”

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  I knew who did it. I knew who the killer was.

  Charlie yapped.

  I turned.

  “Thomas,” my throat gave way to a gasp.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Thomas Sodbury stood before me, inches from my face. Harriet screamed again in the background. His entire face changed; the eyes no longer open wide, he squinted with his teeth bared.

  “Thomas,” I said once again, furthering my disbelief. “You did it.”

  It was him. And he’d played us all.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, grabbing at my arm, he pushed me into the closet.

  Harriet continued in her hums and groans, her attempts to scream.

  Charlie yapped, growling at Thomas in an effort to intimidate him.

  “Fetch!” I said, kicking at Thomas’ walking stick.

  Charlie grabbed at the stick with his teeth, sending Thomas’ wobbling legs, quivering together. He released his grasp on my arm and clung to the doorframe.

  “You’ll never—”

  I pushed at his chest and he crumbled to the ground, landing with a thud. Quick in my attempt, I turned and grabbed silver plastic tape from the cleaning cupboard.

  “Why did you do it?” I asked.

  Harriet continued to shout through her humming.

  “You hated your brother, didn’t you?” I asked. “You were supporting him for years, he ruined business after business. You were saving yourself from his fate, bankruptcy, isn’t that right?” I said, pulling at the tape, I tried to tie his hands.

  “He took and took and took.”

  “So, you figured, kill him, get him out of the picture.”

  “It wasn’t my idea.”

  Charlie yapped, taking the cane and running.

  Harriet grabbed both my arms from behind, pulling me deeper. She tied them tight with a hard fabric.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, rolling my shoulders.

  She was in on it?

  Moving from behind, Harriet walked with a tape around her neck, fallen from her mouth and a single strand of tape around her wrist.

  “Let me guess,” I said, shouting at them both. “It was your idea.” I nodded to Harriet. “And Thomas agreed. But why? Money? You own the house.”

  But—I crumbled back on my knees. Harriet had been tied in here, calling for help.

  “It’s none of your business,” Harriet snapped. “You should’ve stayed clear of all this.”

  “Harriet came to me!” he spat.

  She turned and slapped Thomas around the face. “I tried to warn you, Eve,” she said. “I sent you those things. I tried to keep you away from this.”

  “What?” My throat threatened to close. “What?”

  “Help!” Harriet screamed. “Eve is dead.”

  My hands jittered and my fingers grew taut, pulling at the fabric around my skin. It grew tighter the more I fought.

  Harriet grabbed a hammer from the shelf. “It’ll be painless.”

  “No, no, no. You did it,” I said. “You knew where—where to hit.”

  Harriet had mentioned how she watched autopsies. She knew what to do. I looked over her small frame; impossible.

  “I had help.” She glanced to Thomas before turning back to me, a devilish smile on her face. “I shou
ld thank you, he was going to kill me. He was going to take the insurance money all for himself. He knew it would go directly to him if I died before the will was read.”

  “So, money?” I asked, hoping to bide time. “And who killed Don?

  Harriet huffed. “Well, Thomas, are you going to say something?”

  “I left a note in Don’s pocket, a confession,” Thomas sniffled. “He was—he was waiting outside. I told him to meet on the roof.”

  The fabric around my wrists ate into my skin. “But why?”

  “Thomas was greedy,” Harriet said, swinging the hammer around, hitting the wall. Dust and rocks spat out through the closet. “He told me to sell the house. Thinking he’d get a piece of that too.” She hit the wall once again.

  I screwed my lips shut, my attempt at not breathing in the dust.

  “Who’s going first?” she asked. “Thomas or you?”

  “This isn’t where you want to do this, Harriet.”

  She scoffed. “You’re not my friend. You were never my friend.”

  “Stop! Hands up!” a loud voice called out, followed by a yapping.

  Charlie. My mind raced. He was back.

  A bead of cool sweat dripped down my back; either that or there was something moist at the back of the cupboard. I pushed forward, pushing my body.

  “I said, hands up!” the voice came again. Paul?

  Harriet dropped the hammer, landing on her foot. She screeched in pain.

  They’d done it together. The wife and the brother. They were both in on it. Harriet did it to escape the man Gilbert had become and Thomas had helped to escape the financial burden, but he wanted more than they’d agreed on.

  There was no honour amongst murderers. I saved Harriet’s life, accidentally stumbling upon her. Their plan must’ve been to have Don murdered, let him take all the blame in one fell swoop with a written confession, and have it all neatly sealed before the wake.

  “Eve, Eve,” Ruth’s voice called out to me.

  I’d spaced out, sitting inside the cupboard, watching as Harriet and Thomas were cuffed and taken away. Charlie laid in my lap as I processed everything, stroking at the space on my wrists Harriet had left red marks.

  “Eve,” she said once again, softly, dipping to me. “You in there?”

  “Yes,” my meek words surfaced.